The Unforgettable Fire
by Yukihapax
Summary: They were two faltering lives whose existences were doomed but still held together by the fragile red thread of freedom. [World:Anime(first version)/RoyxMaes/Rated M for various reasons]
1. Gods of war

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**Hullo everybody, I'm back with something I'm translating from my own old story experience.**

**This is set in the FMA universe belonging to the FIRST anime transposition of the manga (so, no brotherhood universe) because I wrote it about 6 or 7 years ago and the manga was still ongoing. **

**Roy and Maes in their youth and in their adulthood, caught in the crossfire of the war. **

**Actually, this is the prequel to another story (that I'm planning to post here, too); _this fic is completed so I'll update chapters regularly._ **

**All the chapters, obviously, are titled after songs and I reckon the whole playlist of the fanfic is pretty interesting. **

**I'd be glad to hear your opinions and comment. **

***disclaimers***

**I do not own anything here, this is just for my own (and your) fun. **

***WARNINGS***

**There may be _not-so-charming _words around, also there are yaoi sexual intercourses scenes, blood, suffering states of mind and death (no gore, though, don't worry) so YOU ARE ADVISED. **

**_01Gods of war_**

Kill them all. So they say.

They are rebels, they don't deserve life.

Little, meaningless insects…Red eyes, skin burnt by the sun .

They're painfully hard to bend, one can tell from their brave looks.

Rioting and attached to life as I've ever seen.

Maybe – that's something I've been starting to figure out – it's just because I've never really seen life in danger.

So the dim sun rises, every day, and so the army proceeds with the onslaught.

And I kill , mercilessly, and I kill , furiously, and I kill, again, blindly.

It's just a matter of seconds.

A light snap, sparkles jolt from nowhere and a whole street jumps in the air, blown out like wind-stormed sand.

They call me the Flame Alchemist.

Ah, _so amazing, _this firey gift.

My pride, my strength .

My curse.

My damnation.

Enemies – _innocents – _fall around me, silently, like thousands parched leaves.

I kill who threatens to kill me, I erase the ones who tip the guns against me and my _precious superiors. _

No clemency, no time to lose.

But there's no glory in this – really, at all – because those burning corpses were once only a terrified woman, screaming against a wall, pleading for mercy, with her three wide-eyes children.

They're hiding the rebels, so they told me, the really dangerous ones.

Sunburnt skin and red eyes.

The real enemy is their mentality , they keep repeating me.

That's the thing I have to erase with my Alchemy.

Sunburnt skin and red eyes.

Still…How come they seem so damn similar to all the others?

So _fucking_ innocent, so blatantly powerless it almost hurts.

Why should they surrender to this useless slaughter?

We have no right to be here.

We have no reason.

An Alchemist is a power, a resource.

A soldier is a puppet.

A State Alchemist, then, is just a deadly puppet in the hands of those who have power, those who wanted this war from the very beginning.

Someday, I know – _I swear – _they'll all kneel down and lick the blood they dared to shed.

I'll make them do it.

I'll be one of them, I'll get on top and I won't have to swallow this fear anymore, I won't have to hear laments of poor, dying people, burned alive and vanished in a lethal heap of ashes.

Alchemy did not teach me to violate life.

Nonetheless Alchemy brought me in this hell.

This is the Equivalent Exchange, isn't it?

Oh, how annoying, this is not equivalent nor is rational.

A fucking unfair exchange, so dishonest that it is disgusting.

I am disgusting.

This is my body, these are my hands. My power is in them. My punishment is in them.

Now, the petrified boy is looking at me from the bottom to the top .

And I can't kill him.

I'm paralyzed .

"_Stand back !_", I implore him mentally.

"_Run away_!", I'd like to shout.

But I don't say anything.

He is so determined to protect that shitty door, I wonder what – or _who_ – he is hiding behind it.

I couldn't care less.

He didn't do anything wrong, and I have to stop my murdering intentions.

His red eyes pierce me .

I can't kill him.

Panic, horror, my mind is completely emptied.

Suddenly, the boy points a gun at me, God only knows where he found it.

We are so close that if he pulled the trigger, my brain would be blown up unceremoniously…

For a moment I want him to do it.

"_Do it, for fuck's sake, I need it!", _I silently implore, hoping that this torture will end soon.

Then, my attachment to life violently leaps up, almost offended.

The boy and the Alchemist disappear at once, leaving two enemies, two animals struggling for survival.

This is the true nature of man.

He grips on the gun and _effectively _tries to shoot me, but I do not think – for the umpteenth time – and he jumps in the air in less than a second.

Revulsion and rage fill me up to the brim; the beast withdraws, falls apart, and a screaming consciousness appears.

Yet another one and I'll go mad .

Yet another innocent's blood on my hands and it will be over .


	2. Dogs of war

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**Well, I admit it: I'm publishing this but I totally ignore the trends of the FMA /yaoi) fandom. I hope I did not a crappy job with this story. Enjoy the second chapter. **

**02Dogs of war**

Maes Hughes nervously wanders through the camp .

He keeps going back and forth, paying visits to all his comrades' tends.

He talks eagerly to everybody, he has a warm smile for everyone and his hopeful eyes never falter.

Alongside with this, Maes keeps scrutinizing the soldiers' morale.

It's not very high, to be honest, and Maes is not really surprised by the general discontent.

No human will is truly ready to face and deal with the real meaning of war.

There is too much shit inside and outside, there is no more a common sense or a hand that tightly holds you on the ground.

So, invariably, the simple soldier is silent with shock, reluctant to go on, unwilling to cooperate with a _monster_ he doesn't belong with. His will vacillates, after all.

To Maes, it's amazing how _the high ranks _tend to forget this simple truth.

The soldiers, first of all, are men.

They always reach a certain breaking point and after that he have no choice: they can SET – _rearrange –_ their own humanity…or they can go crazy.

The fact is (and mind you, it's a conundrum from the beginning to the end) that they believe they can choose.

They are trained.

They constantly handle guns, they listen to strategies of attack, they talk about strategies of defence, and they argue, laugh, hate, live in their comradeship.

Still – again, this is _fucking _mind-blowing - killing is really far from their minds.

They don't know.

They dare to ignore it…or maybe they don't want to see it.

They shut their minds out.

In the end, taking lives becomes frighteningly normal and it happens so often that it's impossible to keep the score…so much that someone can't handle the whole thing without breaking _inside._

Nonetheless, high ranked motherfuckers and moronic puppeteers don't give a damn about it.

And, again, this is not something new.

The war goes on while these people move their crystal alcohol-filled glasses, talk in elegant rooms, sitting in expensive leathered couches and curling their precious-shaped facial hair.

They unfold huge topographic maps and move upon them tiny wooden pieces, sometimes forward, sometimes backward.

Then they use some curious gestures and, in the real world, thousands of innocents are massacred.

Their far martyrdom is briefly commented by some _very manly_ handshakes and a couple of future and boring promises of lunch together.

Does the ideal possibly worth the weight of this sacrifice?

Where is the measure?

Maes Hughes can't really give an answer.

Everyone has his creeds and there are situations and times in which it seems that everything can be sacrificed just for the greater good.

Then, bang on time, the reality slaps hard the face of the visionary idealist.

It is the slap of the rivers of blood (_it really comes out that easily!_), of the clusters of churned up guts, still warm (_they really comes out that easily!_) and of the piles of abandoned corpses(_their numbers multiply that easily_!).

Yet, trespassed the wall of the first victim, all the others have the same terrifying and null value.

So the man is consumed end dies a little bit inside with every dead OR he becomes corrupt and learn to get pleasure from the oppression of others.

The more the blood soaks the ground, the more they hunger rises and nothing is never enough.

That's the thin line that separates the pain from the madness and, frankly, everyone reacts as he can, just trying to survives.

Such a mystery is the human being, torn between his flesh's urges and his souls' expectation, engineered to celebrate life and still built around the other's people blood-lust.

::::::

Maes opens with a boom the mould-green tent and gives a look in the direction the other soldier is pointing at.

Maes snaps his tongue: this is really improper.

That body thrown carelessly on the bed doesn't seem to be related to Roy Mustang.

Recently, the young Alchemist has quickly gained some sort of reputation and the rumours of his deeds can be heard spreading amongst his companions.

The man is quite the type: he doesn't speak to anyone, not seeking contact with anyone nor proving to be caring about his surroundings.

He is proud, haughty, self-confident.

And, at least so they say, he's a real killing machine.

But Maes only sees a miserable, sorry, scared shred of human being.

The horror now weighs physically on his body and Maes can perceive an aura of death in the man's immobility.

Mustang doesn't move even if Maes' steps are getting nearer,

His back stays still.

Maybe he's sleeping.

When Maes' hand touches his shoulder to get attention, though, Mustang turns around and grabs forcefully his wrist, squeezing it to death.

With Maes' great disbelief, Roy Mustang is trembling.

It takes a while before the man understands that he's facing a "_friend_" and that he's real, just in front of him.

Another tremendous second, then the hawk in the man's dark eyes regains control and his immobile face reappears with prim confidence.

He pulls Maes away and sits down.

- Mustang ? - Maes asks, showing his best imitation of _being at ease_.

He nods, Maes massages his poor wrist.

- So, here we are, the famous Flame Alchemist... – says Maes, with his famous friendly tones.

Roy Mustang looks back without saying anything, not even trying to hide the disgust in the distant squint of his eyes.

- Major Hughes, here, Sir. Colonel Basque Grand sent me to fetch you.-

Mustang finally seems to get a hold of himself.

He gets up and declares:

- Show me the road. –

The two men leave the tent together and head to the medical area, where Marcoh and other people are waiting for them.

But there is someone else.

They are the Rockbells, the doctors.

They accepted to heal casualties on both sides, because the wounded are only wounded, no matter the ethnic group they belong to.

The atmosphere is heavy, unbearable, but Maes is forced to leave.

His thoughts and he hopes are immediately with Roy Mustang.


	3. BitterDancer

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**I kind of messed up with the posting of the first two chapters, I hope now everything is ok. **

**Well, I didn't quite remember it but this story has relatively short chapters, at least if compared to my usual shameful long trend. **

**By the way…enjoy!**

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**_03Bitter Dancer_**

Day after day, I drown in some sort of distant vigil dream.

I force myself to act as if I am steady, willing, present to the others.

Every night, however, countless unknown faces emerge to taunt my nightmares: they look at me mirroring all of my wicked crimes and my mistakes.

I've been told (very carefully, they fear me, after all) that I cry in my sleep.

I pretended not to hear them but I know they're right.

It's getting really hard to stay lucid, sometimes I can't even tell the difference between incubus and reality, it's all mingled up in a freakish infernal jumble

I can't even remember the reason why I got stuck here, so I turn off my mind and I keep…killing.

There's a subtle hint of sadistic pleasure in the way I linger on the contempt for myself.

Oh, the great Flame Alchemist, now spiteful murderer…which is what I am, with no doubts.

The path is already chosen and I can't contain myself, the more I sin the more I need to punish myself.

Even If I wanted I couldn't stop, this lucid madness that leads me leaves no space to other choices.

My skin is marked and my flesh will burn in Hell's flames, someday, hopefully, just like all the lives I've mercilessly taken.

I lost all my honor and now I'm a _dog,_ just like they wanted from the very start, a vulgar murderer, a grotesque human being who keeps shattering and destroying his integrity.

No one cares, not even myself.

Everything that I was no longer exists, it's piled under layers of anguish and distant blurred feelings.

I just have to breathe, that's what I have to focus on, right?

I'll keep walking, step after step, because as long as I hear pretended signs of life, I'll know I still exist.

:::::::::::::::

Hughes is quite the uncommon lad.

I can lightly perceive his glare on me, just like he could sense my panic.

He pierces through me and sometimes I even detach my eyes, pretending I'm too much for him.

He doesn't give in, though. His looks never falters, behind those silly spectacles, and occasionally he tries to talk.

No significant word, mind you, just superficial blurts about casual things.

But believe it or not, his phrases come down to me, like ropes, and force me to interact with him every day.

Hughes' face is always shamefully relaxed and sometimes too jovial for my tastes.

No wonder his name is well known among the soldiers, he never stops his blabbering about girls, love, life and pranks.

Even when the mess time is horrible and flavorless, he jumps like an acrobat from a companion to another, warming up their meal.

Sometimes a laugh or two can be even heard after his rambled jabbering.

The fact is, incoherently, that I don't know whether to be annoyed or amused by all his out-of-the-place cheerfulness.

The man is totally unpredictable. Incomprehensible, even.

Hughes is a professional, acute and extremely reliable in the most serious situations.

But it's hard to believe the idiot now praising the first-class cleavage of his infamous girlfriend is a reliable official and a thoughtful soldier.

I gulp down the sticky slop of my lunch, accompanying it with some questionable bread.

A bit distant from me, the guy keeps blithering about the over-said fiancé.

Far away from him – so the shitty gabby says – she's waiting impatiently to be his bride.

All around him, the others cheer him up and have a toast to the lovely _Glacier. _

I remain silent and chew mechanically the rest of my inconsistent meal.

Aromas and flavors have been dull for quite a while now, but this curiously relaxed mood tricked me for a moment to believe they were suddenly back.

Hughes is now done with his crappy declarations and dismisses his companions with ample grins and gestures, between whistles and applauses.

Then he sits casually at my side.

- How're you doing , Mustang ? –

I lift my icy look and stare at him.

Someone should remind him that I do not stick with him and his cheap cheerfulness.

- Like everyone else, I guess. - I answer back, feeling my words to be more sinister than I wanted.

Hughes sighs a bit too heavily and stand up, inviting me to follow him.

I'm not interested, really, but I'm not that rude to refuse, after all this man didn't do anything wrong.

At least up until now.

He walks for a bit in the sandy ground, waving occasionally to some people, and finally he sits around a makeshift fire.

I follow him while he discharges whoever is now there, suggesting to get back inside the tents and have some rest.

No one really resists to his kind expression, this is a simple truth.

Hughes grins again and begins to rustling on some kind of leather package.

He's rolling tobacco with unexpected dexterity, then he lights up a cigarette and offers me smoke.

I'm not really prepared for all this _closeness._

- I've never smoked , not even in war. – I say, distant as ever.

- Well, sometimes only small pleasures can do the difference. Just try it. -

I take the cigarette, I take some swift puffs and then a dry cough shakes me .

Hughes smiles, again, in that irritant fashion the meaning of which I'm kind of trying to figure out.

- It was really true, you never did this! –

I throw at him my best silent scowl.

Do I look like a shit-telling lad?

He laughs.

Then hesitates and looks down.

- I've heard of ... Rockbells – he says, as if we are talking about the weather.

The stomach tightens at once and my awful meal threatens not to be digested anymore.

I'm frozen.

The memory of the Rockbells' pitiful expressions, their supplications – _please, please, we have a little girl waiting for us at home_ – comes back to me in a single, sharp image.

I just did what I have been commanded by my superior .

It's just that…in front of that couple immersed in their own blood I wished I had a painful death as it never occurred to me before.

They were doctors, helping people and no matter which side they were on.

I killed them and now they are dead.

Once again ground has been stained with innocent blood and murderous intents have taken the last bit of my soul.

It's rotten, it's hideous, and this is so painfully true and real that I can't bear it in my mind anymore.

Hughes doesn't speak at all nor he answers me back when I realize I've been blurting all this immense, cosmic shit to him.

Unexpectedly, Hughes' eyes bear no contempt, even if I know they're watching my dirty murderous hands, all clad in pure white gloves.

There's no compassion or pity.

And I'm amazed.

- Surviving the horror of our own mistakes. That's what I call courage. -

There's no trace of the goofy jerk I always saw sewed on his face.

He's talking to me for the very first time.

- I know I'm not a powerful Alchemist but I've killed too – he says, almost softly, now grinning again – We're all in the same shit, I suppose.-

He's right , I'm not the only one here.

But still nobody talks about it, there's this secret rule, everyone keeps everything inside and pretends it didn't really happened.

Hughes reach out and carefully grips on my shoulder.

I observe his hand on me like some sort of curious fact, happening somehow to me while I didn't see it coming.

- I know what you've been through. And I know it sounds pretentious but…Don't sink Roy.-

I snort, a bit sarcastically.

- You still have lots of good thing you can do.- he says, sounding really concerned.

- This doesn't bring back the people I killed.- I say I automatically.

- Yeah, but it's the least you can do. -

- I do not seek redemption. -

He looks at me, transfixed .

- Then, please, don't look for damnation . There is still much you can do. -

He throws his cigarette into the fire and his smile comforts me.

So, that's the real thing he does to people, _his_ kind of Alchemy.

I never witnessed such a powerful and honest offer of friendship.

I smash my face in my opened hands, crushing eyeballs with my fingertips.

When was, again, the last time I got actual sleep?

This is the remains of the famous, dreadful and weak Flame Alchemist.

Hughes is still near me, though, and looking at him again I'm willing to talk as much as he's willing to stay and listen.

I talk about my ambition and my vision of things.

Especially those that should change, those rotten cogs that have to be changed.

I'd like to be on the top of the highest military ranks, I'd like to be the one in charge, just to stop this massacre, just to redo things better.

- The army needs men like you, our country needs it . - Hughes reassures me with a fraternal face .

I discover with astonishment that this man's inner thoughts are surprisingly similar to mine.

And from that time around the bonfire, Maes keeps teaching me every day, just by his presence, that achieving my goal is a matter of sacrifice and clenched teeth.

But now I'm not alone in this, there someone I can call _my friend_ and he never ceases to amaze me.

Maes Hughes doesn't deceive me anymore and now I've come to know the meaning of his façade.

It's about not to let things win over him, it's about having enough strength to go on.


	4. OnlyIf

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**Here I am again. I'm slowly translating chapters from my mother tongue, hoping the story will sound equally good. I know it's kind of simple-written but I'm actually proud of it, not because is something spectacular, it's just that back then it kept me really company during an awful period of my life. **

**I'm carefully re-reading everything, I don't like leaving mistakes behind, but if you spot them (because I'm getting almost blind about it), please don't hesitate and write me, thanks!**

**Enjoy. **

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**04Only if **

Hughes literally blabbers about _his _beautiful Glacier, waiting for him in Central City: according to the foul's words, she's waiting eagerly for him to come back.

It seems he can't stop desiring her, imagining their dates and their courtship, and it seems that everyone around the military camp has to know about it.

Whenever he writes back his letters he piffles aloud to everybody the words he's writing down on some wrinkled piece of paper. He'll be back – _don't worry lovely daisy_ – he will surely be promoted then they will marry and start a family. And children, obviously, so many of them and written in a so full-of-particularities sick way that Roy can almost vomit at the solely thought.

Nonetheless, now that he's growing accustomed to the man's curious manners, he sees behind the shitty pantomime: Hughes likes to have the picture highly clear focused, he likes his love-life and long-terms projects to be neat and well-planned. Not in a control-freaked way, really, it's just that the guy is forthright and pristine from the inside to the outside, and hardly anything seems to reach and spoil this display of so-called perfection.

The real _actual_ reason Roy's taken aback, though, is that the figures don't add up.

He lightly wonders, for example, what Hughes is thinking now, as he slowly approaches him near the bonfire, a starry warm sky above them and the cheerful glow of flames all around in the velvety dark.

The amazing glow of a smile flicks the man's feature, an expression that Roy never saw, and even if Hughes is chatting in the usual, superficial way, there's something teasing and playful in his tone, something that lingers silently in the air.

Something that definitely – _oh, absolutely_ – has nothing to do with Glacier, her shining eyes and the tender child she could be giving birth to in a near future…

And that's because (Roy Mustang is not a dumb guy, no doubts) when Maes Hughes stops talking bullshit and clings in their precious, great idealistic issues, his eyes shine with the uncommon light of passion.

There's no real passion in Maes' letters. Those are only desiccated words, lovely to read but as useless as a promise to the wind.

Hughes' glance to Roy, on the contrary, reveals quite a different quality of interest.

Again, Roy Mustang is not oblivious enough to let shit like this going on unnoticed.

When he grabs almost absent-mindedly a harmful of Hughes' shoulder uniform, the other man startles a bit but doesn't move at all.

He pierces through Roy's dark eyes, the pupils almost completely dilated and the jumping orange of the fire on the skin, his manly jaw slightly unclenched.

Roy can't remember the last time he have held his breath so close to another human being.

The thought disconcerts him. He remains still, his mind completely blank, the sky above so immense and life ahead so important that their meanings slip away mercilessly.

Hughes body gets closer and adheres to Roy as his right arm collects the other's shoulders with protectiveness.

Their chapped lips brush at midair, touching breathlessly and exploring tentatively.

The touch is amazingly delicate.

Roy knows his face is burning and feels the clench of his stomach vibrating strongly when Maes's tries with a different approach, a bit more decisive.

Kisses , caresses, hugs, embraces…it's a world Roy didn't quite remember, something that quivers faintly in the back of his mind.

He has always reckoned a man should leave such weaknesses behind while going through a difficult path like the one he chose some time ago.

In fact, the way to the power for the greater good takes hardships and doesn't allow distractions.

But in this very moment, without restraining himself, Roy responds to Maes' kisses without thinking about it twice.

There's no shame and no fear.

When Hughes cuts off he stares back and hovers very close to Roy.

He's attractive, flushed and wordless.

He pokes Roy's forehead with his, closing his eyes, then he loosens his grip and starts rolling a cigarette.

They don't talk and the spirals of smoke disorderly pile up, getting lost in the black of night .

Roy knows, somewhere deep inside him, there's now an unbreakable bond between the two of them.

:::::::::::::::::::

The thing is very simple, too much, actually.

There had been two men in the sand, two friends, two brothers in arms, and there had been a slow, shamefully tender kiss.

It flares in Roy's memory like a sudden flash in the middle of a deserted darkness.

Nor that he cares that much, really, but Hughes doesn't even pretend that nothing has ever happened and this slightly confuses Roy.

He had the feel of Hughes' stare at his neck all the day and the man has been smiling shortly at him for no real reason, the almost non-perceivable formality of his previous behavior now completely gone.

During the meals he keeps fucking around with his presumed love letters and while the others laugh Roy…Roy sincerely doesn't know.

He guesses he doesn't really feel anything, but still something annoys him.

The person he knows, the one who had kissed him, and this idiot fooling around don't match at all.

It's almost painful.

The absurdity of the question is right here, Roy spots it clearly with his perfect rationality.

It seems that Glacier is part of a very distant universe, along with the dimwit version of Hughes, who fondly cultivates dreams of the perfect family.

In this sorrow-warped parallel universe, instead, there's another Maes Hughes, the one he truly met, the one he deeply bonded with.

And, Roy does not lie to himself, this last behaved himself in the spur of a moment.

However, he will not stand by him claiming the need of an explanation, of some complicated reason.

There are death and perdition all around them, this is not the time to judge, this is only the time to step aside.

So, this is the precise reason Roy stands up without finishing his meal and goes away, leaving behind his shoulders laughs and sex-hinted conversations between his comrades and Hughes, who's still busy showing Glacier's last picture.

Curiously enough, then, at nightfall Hughes stands near Roy's tent.

Roy looks at him and feels puzzled. He leads him away, in an uncertain stroll together.

- Don't you have anything to ask me?- Maes asks suddenly.

Roy furrows his brows and frowns

- Should I?-

Maes pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes:

- I kissed you, I don't know if you remember. If you just... -

- Very nice – Roy spits – I've had women but this has a different flavor…-

Maes shows a quizzical expression. A little hurt too.

- Roy ... -

- No, really, it's okay. I don't understand why you did it but it is the most pleasant thing ever happened to me in months. I don't see why I should complain or anything.-

Roy talks about himself but his voice seems far away.

- Wait…Wait, Roy…there's a reason, I…-

- You owe me nothing.- Roy says, his voice now cooler than ice.

There's something in the air his mind can't get a grip on, he can't figure out but it kind of stings.

- And then…the flesh is weak. Your _lovely_ _Glacier_– yes, Roy is an intentional user of sarcasm – is far away, while I'm here... – his words trail off, leaving no doubts about their further meaning.

There is a pang of cynicism in Roy's tone, and maybe also heavy trails of bitterness, so Hughes looks completely floored.

He grabs Roy's arm and shakes it a bit.

- Quit it. This…this is not you. Let me explain. You're only upset…- his voice now wincing.

Roy smirks, almost scornful:

- Oh, and I imagine you can tell it precisely, better than me, even!-

- Well, I've been wondering about you for a while now and I think I can tell whether you're troubled or not!-

- Mpf! – Roy's teeth are gritting – Then try to explain me why I suddenly feel the urge to beat you to death!-

- C'mon, Roy, I thought we were on another level…I thought we had greater plans to discuss about! Can't you see it?! -

Roy anger boils at once as he actually doesn't know where he hid all of his irritation up until now.  
This pretentious jerk is really daring to mess up with him?

- _Who. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are_?!-

He steps ahead and his gloved hands suddenly grasps Maes' neck.

- I…I…could let you explode and burn in less than a second…- Roy's eyes are unfocused and his grip holds strong on Maes collar.

- R-Roy…I'm…I'm sorry…l-let…me…-

Roy throws away Maes and laugh a bit hysterically.

- Who would have thought…- he says, incredulously.

And then, his tones full of spite:

- Quit fuckin' around with me!- he barks.

Maes stands up and coughs but doesn't step back, stubbornly.

- You…you think you can _fight _me…- Roy says in a deadly whisper and tightens his hands, already prepared to fight.

Hughes' body, on the contrary, is relaxed and welcoming.

- You're wrong. I'm trying to help you.-

Roy shakes in fury, trapped and blocked layers of wrath releasing all at once.

- Roy…- he murmurs, reaching out his hand and touching his arm carelessly.

There have been deaths, there's been so much blood on his hands; there have been excruciating scenes, scorching explosions and deafening screams…now, what the hell, this clumsy idiot looks at him like he's still part of the real world.

How can he?

Roy freezes himself again, his eyes two livid slits.

- Roy… – Maes repeats – I…-

Roy jerks his head away.

- I don't need any of this. I don't need your help, your words…- _your kisses…_but he doesn't say it aloud, at least.

- You're arrogances never ceases to amaze me.- states Hughes, pinning back his glasses and grinning a bit sadly.

- I...I'm sorry about yesterday. I don't know why I did it…I…-

- Shut your useless mouth, you moronic imbecile.-

Roy breathes heavily, then chains his hands with Maes' ones and melts his confused wrath crushing with Hughes' warm lips.

It feels better at once.

There's no hesitance and there's a lot of heat diffusing between the two of them.

Roy doesn't care anymore of noble reasons and high-themes talks, he's mostly busied with chocking on Hughes' mouth.

He doesn't want to hear about stupid letters and about a non-existent future, about an ignominious mistakes he's allowing, about the uncharted feeling now spreading in his chest.

- This is insane. I don't even know what I can promise you…- then mutters Hughes, their face very close, their bodies attached in a tight hug.

- I don't want any promises. Soon you won't need me. And then we'll depart. - Roy utters in a flat tone, regaining his breath.

- I won't let you go.-

Hughes kisses him again, a bit impatiently.

- Shut up – replies Roy, nipping his wet lower lip – This is nonsense.-

He may sound self-confident and determined but deep inside he's wounded.

First of all, Maes has already chosen his way, or he would be all over him by now, which is not happening.

Then, as if it wasn't enough, he's very well-aware that he's already missing Maes for the time to come in which he'll eventually abandon him.

Nonetheless, they keep standing together, two solitary figures silhouetted in the night.

Still lonely but united.


	5. The Unforgettable Fire

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**Well, here we are, this is the M-rated part and, not a coincidence, it's named after the ff's title. I don't remember being particularly satisfied with it but I think it's passable. Anyway, I think the most important part of this story is this particularly gloomy atmosphere...En****joy it!**

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**05 the unforgettable fire**

My room is dusty and messy, alchemical books, ingredients, containers and chalk-written circles spread practically everywhere. When I open the door to the unexpected guest, his eyes anxiously gather all the details of my material misery. I'm unshaven, my clothes are ruined and my appearance is neglected. So is the space I'm living it.

My guest taps back his glasses and looks concerned, wittingly worried. He's not an Alchemist but he's smart enough to put two and two together.

I reassure him that I'm not trying to revive anyone, although I've actually toyed with the idea of human transmutation, rolling it around the fingers of my disordered mind.

After the end of the war, after we separated, I've been tormented and anguished.

All the ghosts of my sins have come back to me, plaguing my sleep and grieving my waking.

Yet human transmutation is strictly forbidden and its mystery is so deep and unfathomable that even the great Flame Alchemist has been left empty-handed. Even Hohenheim of Light's researchers didn't help me and in our correspondence he strongly suggested me to let the dead rest in peace. The price to pay is too high, again, and it would be impossible to bring back to life all the innocent people I have diligently massacred.

Now, my guest seems reassured from my words.

He tries to ask me other things but I hardly reply, I'm not that happy to see him here. Maybe.

Fortunately, just to remember me in which side of the world I currently am stuck to, he shows me (a bit too proudly, to be honest) a glossy apple pie his wife sent me.

His wife.

Sent.

ME.

And he says they're married now.

He's appalled, or so it seems, and I think this is really grotesque.

Because I'd like to ask something very similar to _Ehi, fucker, how did you like the two of us ravaging each other's mouth in the middle of the sandy-nowhere? Ehi, you giant asshole, have you ever even mentioned it to your pure, beautiful Glacier?_

But I keep my mouth shut.

If on one hand he didn't show me any possibility, I, on the other, never showed him I would have liked to try.

Anyway, honestly, how could I possibly hope something?

How can some stolen kisses in the painful war nights be compared to this fragrant, warm apple pie?

Everything is just buried in the silent deserts of the South.

My dear guest drops his act, stops talking about his usual crap and confesses me that his greatest wish is for me. That he never ceased to think about the greater good I'm destined to. He wants me to be Supreme Commander . He wants me to change all the shit that forced us to subdue a harmless population.

He will do everything that is in his powers and he will keep his steadfast just to me.

His words can still move my latent and drowsy sense of justice, the one so bitterly battered by the war.

Getting to the top is really what I want.

I want to wipe out the megalomania of this warring, violent country. I want to punish the unpunished. My pride and my stubbornness will stand for me,

And all this is what, in fact, I've been knowing for quite a while.

What I really ignore is what Maes Hughes is currently doing in my rooms.

He's in front of me, talking in a friendly distanced fashion that he never revealed to me before, and I hate him for being so polite, so righteous, so fucking virtuous.

How can I forget his hypocrite hands trespassing layers of clothes to brush their shameful fingertips on my bare skin, never crossing a precise line, never adventuring too much ahead, fearing and expecting it at the same time.

Who is this graceful, fake guy in front of me now?

While he talks to me about Central City, about the army, our projects…it grows in me, overwhelmingly, the confused desire confused intimacy.

- Roy, are you listening to me ?-

- Hn. -

I drop my head a little and wait some other glorious words of strategies and victory.

But – and I don't know if here I'm being too pretentious or not too much – is there anywhere a place for my numb heart to rest?

Maes startles, seeming perplexed, and finally looks at me like I wanted him to do from the very start.

His eyes are eventually truthful.

I slowly push my body towards him and he does not avoid our contact.

- I wondered a lot if you had forgotten. – I chuckle darkly – You know, between the distance and the apple pie, one can never know... -

I swear, I did not mean to sound so caustic.

Nonetheless, he seems unimpressed and hugs me back, genuinely.

- Oh, how could I ever forget Roy Mustang?- he almost laughs.

I shake a little while my grip on his shoulders tightens.

- Sometimes, believe me, I wish I could say apple pies have nothing to do with us.- he murmurs, his fingers leaving trails on the back of my neck.

Oh, you don't know how I wish that too.

- But…I've been caring about her for far too long, now.-

Well, not that I expected him to be clearer about it, but I can understand. That woman is his world, his _garden,_ the fruit of his commitment with society.

I daresay he loves us both, but to be honest I don't want to be so hopeful.

I better stay off, I better not think about all the implications.

Since the beginning _Glacier_ has been all I know about Glacier. I never hated her, I never envied her…I never even tried to think about them together.

It's a pure, solid fact of reality, something I distractedly took note of long time ago but never got me interested.

- My family is my duty and forever it will be…- Maes says in a scratchy voice, his chin rested on my neck – And still no apple pie can make me forget you…-

- I told you that time, I repeat it now. Stop talking nonsense. -

I separate (reluctantly) from his shoulders registering with the corner of my mind our slight difference in height.

He looks hurt and I snort, tossing the stupid apple pie somewhere in the little kitchen.

When I come back, Maes Hughes is still awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking at me with an undecipherable expression.

- What do you want?- I ask blatantly.

He sighs and squeezes his eyes under the spectacles.

- You now…- he begins, and my heart sinks again, because something big is arriving and I know -…I kept repeating myself, day after day, that she was the perfect choice, all that I ever desired wrapped up in a perfect present, with the ribbon and all the rest.-

- You're not helping me.- I growl, offended, but he ignores me.

- But deep inside me, I could never let you go. I couldn't force myself to. We met and I can't think of it as a coincidence.-

- So, what? You'll be on my side and together we'll overcome everything? Do you even realize how much lame it sounds?- I spit, angrily, thinking about the amount of time I'm losing after this useless, manipulative jerk.

But he's as stubborn as I can remember and he grabs my hands vehemently.

- Can't you see it, Roy? You…you have a power on me, I never felt like this towards anything!-

- Yet still I can't have you…-

- I KNOW! Listen…I know I shouldn't be here to begin with, I shouldn't say these things, but I can't ignore you, I couldn't help but come here to see you, to talk to you!-

Nice little speech, really, I shake my head in disbelief.

He's trading _love_ - let's say _love_, it makes everything easier – for success, he's saying this is for justice's sake. And he's ready to support me, no matter what. A part from letting me loving him as I always wished.

Well, knowing that I don't have much choice a part from rotting here in this shitty room, _this_ exchange doesn't seem so bad to me, even if still not equivalent at all.

- We could do this together…You know, I trust you, I'll be like your shadow…-

Suddenly...I find myself wishing strongly for him to remain here with me and I don't really care about this _career _he's rattling about. It's just that I don't want to be alone anymore.

- Stay, then, - I hear myself say - stay here with me, now. I need it. I need you.-

- I can't…stay…- his voice trails off.

I grasp his hand and forcefully put it on my face, kissing it.

He winces, taken aback.

- Roy…please…this is…wrong…-

I bite his fingers and I make them trace the shape of my lips.

Ah, God only knows how much I desire him in this very moment.

- Please…- he whispers.

- Hush.- I say, almost mercilessly, and I know at once that he won't resist me.

Hughes knows me, he has seen my worst and my best, he can tell that no other human being has ever had the privilege to see me so weak, defeated, needy. The nature and the power of my own craving can't be mistaken, it is clear, I never did anything to hide it.

I fix my eyes upon him and let the man do all the rest.

- I won't lie to you. – he says, very carefully – I'm not promising anything…-

- You never did it…-

- Do you understand what I'm saying?- he asks.

- Yes, I do.- Oh, I'm not that dumb, _you idiot_, I know what you're implying with your usual politeness.

Disgraceful, dishonorable occasional affair. No interfering, no wedding issues, casual meetings: all the condensed retardness we're capable of if relating to love issues. Great. It will be amusingly destroying.

- And do you fully agree?-

- Yes, I do.- Are there other options? I guess not.

- Shit…- he comments, briefly.

I know I should feel guilty but I can't force myself, I feel somehow lighter.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

He gets far from me slowly; he walks towards the window to close the heavy curtains.

He sighs again, in disbelief I presume, and then he removes carefully his glasses.

Then, he comes near me and finally let all the things flow.

His hands are all over me without further hesitations and before I can even process what's happening, he gently tilts his head and touch my mouth with his tongue, leaving wet marks on my wanting lips.

It's been a long time…and I clearly underestimated the effects of his touch on me...so when he fully kisses me, covering all my mouth, uncontrollable heat inflames my cheeks, my skin, my guts.

Soon the world outside Maes Hughes ceases to be part of my field of vision and everything blurs in a very rapid sequence of events.

While deepening the kiss, we attach one another, and his tongue, touching mine, sends shivers down my spine. We separate, panting, trying to breath, and he stares at me, furiously flushed and as handsome as I never saw him.

He comes to me again, even with more fervor than before; he kisses me, he licks and bites my neck, and pushes me through all the room until my back bangs loudly against the wall.

Now I see why he has always controlled himself: he can be quite intense, but I don't complain when the tip of his tongue draws the tender line of my jaw, from the earlobe to the chin, also nipping strongly at my neck.

We start to pant heavily and the heat becomes pressing as his hands starts to wander all over my body and his groin is suddenly pressed against mine.

- HNN !-I protest, uselessly, biting my lip, while my hand slips under his shirt and presses on his smooth abdomen.

This was never meant to be sweet or beautiful, really, so no wonder he starts roughly to suck on my tongue while our hips grind violently and an unmistakable choir of laments rises from us.

Another cloud of torrid kisses, my brain and pride are washed away and the urge of the instinct emerges in all its hungry essence.

I'm still gasping when his hand slides between our legs and gives friction to my hard, throbbing desire.

- AH! - I moan, and then, I shove him away and I violently grab the cuff of his shirt, dragging him behind me on the way to the bedroom.

I send him forcefully on the bed and I jump on him, clamping his pelvis against mine and tormenting his length through the agony of our covered up skins.

I hastily take my clothes off, so does he, and I close my eyes, feeling, clearly, the outline of his hard sex against mine. They touch, they rub, desperately trying to get rid of obstacles.

Now bare-chested, I lean on Hughes, swallowing, and I kiss him.

So I instantly forget everything.

I don't know these bodies, these two men, this uncomfortable bed, the meaning of an unfair war, the possibility of a secret love.

I can only feel fire scorching my limbs and hardening my cock as Hughes discharges all of our remaining clothes, pins me down to the bad and grasps a hot boiling handful of flesh, writhing with pleasure. Man, I can't say he doesn't know what he wants!

He tads my pale tight and his touch is surprisingly tender as he seizes my testicles – _oh…my_ – and my flushed cock. He strokes it, up and down and I almost jump when he bows himself to lick and suck me impatiently, from the wet, shiny head to the tender folds of my perineum. A brave finger prods me down there, and I moan loudly: inside my flesh churns and pulses with the desire to be filled. Hughes fingers me, and his hips automatically swing, anticipating their moves, then, even if I ask him to go slowly, he tries to gape my hole, and I can't help but cry with pain and pleasure.

His tongue wraps around my cock again, and even if the penetration is hurting, I want it, more and more, and at certain point I hear myself clearly asking for _him. _

Hughes comes to me, kisses me again, his fingers still delightfully busied with me.

- Control yourself, someone may hear us... - he sighs and I grasp his thick length, feeling it against the palm of my hand, stroking it and pleading him to fill me deep inside. He bites my shoulder and gasps, he could come at anytime now.

- Absurd ... this is absurd ... - he murmurs in my ear, shaking.

- I want you…– I purr as a unashamed response –…fuck…me…-

So he moves aside and he makes me lie fully on my back, lifting my legs a little.

I see his length fully exposed in front of me and I gulp down, impressed, feeling the urge of tasting it.

I close my eyes and my body flinches as soon as his fingers enter me again, preparing me for the last time.

- If it hurts, just say it. I'll stop.- he rattles and I nod, speechlessly.

It takes me quite a while not to feel torn apart as he penetrates me. After a long time of trials and errors, in which Hughes stoically resists to the urge of splashing me with his semen, I can follow through the whole thing. It's a matter of seconds and I'm feeling pleasure whenever he hits a precise spot inside me. I moan louder and louder.

In that moment, his overfilled will spilling, Maes grabs me, no more patient, and thrust his hips inside my lust-filled flesh with growing strength.

We swing in total abandonment against each other, pushing deeper, panting faster as the rhythm gets steadier. My hand floats around the head of my pulsating shaft and only when Maes calls repetitively my name with a low, husky voice, I touch myself, choking my breath in response.

Hughes bends over me, I feel his pubic against my skin and it drives me mad: eyes wide opened,

I feel him hitting the point of no return until a thick gush of semen spurts inside me and splatters my buttocks and legs as Maes keeps shoving frantically.

I cry and my liquid pleasure flies above my stomach and my neck, plastering our trembling skin as we glue together again in a kiss, sticky and fumbling, still shivering with orgasm.

I know I'm looking at the ceiling .

I know there is a fan, a lamps and a terrible green and lemon striped wallpaper, but now I can't see anything; a deep, stunned exhaustion falls on me .

Hughes speaks to me after a long time.

My eyelids are already heavy with a strange sleep when his voice brings me back to the reality.

- How are you? -

- Hnnn ... mmmhhhh... - I mutter , not very convinced .

- Did I hurt you ? -

- Nope - I minimize - just normal business, I suppose. -

- Mpf... - he grumps, rubbing his nose on my cheek. I turn around and kiss him lightly .

He smiles, this time with his eyes too, then closes them and sighs:

- Fuck, I can't get up. -

_You could stay_ I think.

- Stay. - I say immediately.

I limply slip my arm around his waist and we fall slowly fall asleep.

In general, I dare not think about this.

It's easy to say certain things, in the spur of the moment, it's easy to do damages.

I don't know what we will become.

But this corner of warm heaven now saturates me completely and I can finally feel brighter after months of perdition.

And this, for me, is far than enough.


	6. Purple Rain

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It's a shame that FMA ended, really, I used to be a huge fan ^.^. I guess after the end of it I felt the _need_ to build my own canon, at least about the first animated series, while brotherhood, in my opinion, touched the perfection ^.^. Rejoice with me, oh fandom female audience, 'cause Arakawa-_sama_ is a lovely lady and we should be proud of her brilliant contribution to the _shonen_ world.

**Enjoy.**

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**06Purple Rain **

A violent lightning pierces the grainy, nebulous purple swirls of the clouds, a thunder comes along, muttering menacingly through the air. In the gray distance, no line on the horizon can separate the earth from the sky.

The translucent glass of Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang office's windows reflects another thunderbolt, inside the dark curtains are closed in a silent anticipation.

Roy is at his desk, in his expensive black leather chair, inattentively sipping five ice cubes in a finger of caramel-colored whiskey .

His eyes seems lost, unfocused. He stares the dimmed ceiling, apparently interested in something invisible, maybe inexistent.

Every now and then he bites his lower lip, his plain expression twitching a little, as if he's bearing some itchy sensation.

It's about to rain and Roy Mustang instinctively hates rain, being the Flame Alchemist.

His skin becomes uncomfortable, his mood instantly prickly, and every time he knows he will be pissed off by something.

Rainy days always mean _bad shit_.

- Aaah ... - he moans slightly, his mind suddenly reconnected to his present self.

No other sound creeps his lips, but his toes involuntary keep contracting.

By now, he has indulged in this little, sinful pleasure of his countless times, and enduring it without letting his voice slip is always the same, blissful torture.

Subtly masochistic, he reckons, but, hey, _de gustibus et coloris non est disputandum_ as Roy's old master used to say.

Meanwhile, pretty busied in a very sticky and wet situation, Maes Hughes in knelt down between the Alchemist's legs.

Roy tries hard not to react, persisting stoically in his renewed icy silence, despite the fact that in his head blurred and deviate images tie up in bundles.

- Aaaahh…-

Fuck, he hates the sound of his own enjoyment. It seems a weak and childish request for his pleasure to be blindly fulfilled.

But he doesn't want to be condescend: Roy Mustang owes nothing to anyone, except to himself.

Well, on seconds thoughts maybe he actually owes something to the officer bent between his thighs, his tongue hungrily tormenting his pulsing member and his eyes closed as if worshipping his own personal God.

- Mmmmmmh…- he forces himself to remain silent again.

His sex pokes out, shiny and thick, from Hughes' mouth; the man raises his face and looks into Roy's eyes, still touching him with burning caresses.

Roy rips away his eyes, because he likes being a neglecting bastard who appears detached and unimpressed.

Also, there's something lying in the back of Hughes' glance that scares his ass off.

This may be probably called love.

Roy doesn't know and perhaps it's something he really never experienced.

Apparently, it depends on what _love_ is meant to be.

Yes, if love is the highest selective affinity between two souls, yes if it brings two spirits together and wipes off the torment of the mundane. There can be these two individuals, detached from any contexts, with no social obligations, free to follow their instincts and to build each other's caring expectations.

No, if love is a well-balanced, serene relationships, healthy and blessed by the others, following the trails of a planned future that aims to a family.

And that's the insatiable conundrum,

Love is destruction, annihilation, fusion, unstable corporeal and spiritual burning.

Love is generation, fulfillment , terse statement of intent, clear awareness of the mutual and the common.

Roy sees there's no solution to this.

Maes is overwhelmed by the force and the despair – _especially the hopelessness, obviously _- of his love for Roy .

Maes is satisfied with the quiet happiness of Glacier's love.

Roy knows that deep inside the man is ripped in two and he'll never stop feeling guilty for this.

But today, finally, all their sins will find them out.

Roy gives up.

He should have known better, back then, that sooner or later he'd have felt saturated.

That's it, the conditions can no longer be acceptable, there's really too much at stake, they should stop this wicked game. There are far greater scenarios waiting for their energy to be worn and eroded.

Roy will go forward, and Maes will always be his most faithful friend and supporter, after all they shared too much for too long.

Unfortunately, Roy fears his own resolution and the soon-to-come moment of the truth is so painfully carved in him that he has been avoiding the other's eyes from the beginning.

Roy contracts in silence for the last time, gasping for air, and he finally comes, for a seconds or two the bliss of the moment anesthetize his remorseful conscience.

Maes licks everywhere, smearing Roy's semen on his own face, and with one last final grunt he spurts in thick gushes in his own hand.

Minutes later, all the traces of their viscose sin erased, Roy finally drops his head and cries in grief and relief.

Here they are, at last. It's over.

Maes looks grieved.

They can't add anything more to what they've already decide.

Intentions, motives, reasons…that's ok, really.

Let the bygones be bygones, they have already discussed the topic, now it is time to move on.

Yet, when Roy feels Maes hugging him he can't manage to control himself and cries more loudly.

A strange nagging feeling of emptiness lingers on them and outside the storm explodes mercilessly.

Roy shivers, Maes moves away and opens the curtains, letting the sooty glow enter inside the room.

- Roy ... – he begins.

The Flame Alchemist raises his right hand, demanding immediate silence as his usual.

- Thanks for everything. This is a goodbye. We have no more time to waste.- he says, though Roy never considered it a waste. never considered wasted time their love.

- I did give you everything I could..- replies Maes, his head bowed .

- I do not doubt it.-

- Whatever happens, I'll be always by your side.-

Roy turns and smiles, bitterly.

- I know, I appreciated that. - No hard feelings , no regrets - I..._We_ have a mission to accomplish.-

Maes nods in silence, then, hesitating:

- It's all so unreal. Roy ... -

- Things change . This is normal. Cruel but quite ordinary.-

A pause, Roy moves slightly toward _his_ Maes, looking at him with sincerity.

- You'll get the leader you want, now, this is the promise of our friendship.-

They softly kiss for the very last time and their bodies languidly linger on each other.

Then they put themselves in a considerably safe distance, and Roy becomes progressively more formal .

- Let me have always news from you. About everything. I'll be happy . -

- See you soon then ... – nods Hughes and quietly leaves behind the door.

After minutes, Roy catches himself observing Maes' silhouette walking quickly towards his car down in the rain-soaked yard, his hands trying uselessly to shield from the water.

The figure turns a bit and raises knowingly his arm in salute.

Roy's eyes rip away from him and he sighs, because he may have a strong will but his heart now aches.

Riza Hawkeye enters silently leaving on the desk the day bulletin and Roy can tell her sharp glare knows everything, after all the air itself reeks of abandonment.

Roy dismisses her and sits at his desk, hating raining days and expecting to find all the letters very boring.

Until, amongst the others, one incongruously stands, showing the handwriting of a child.

Sender: Edward and Alphonse Elric.

After a quick research, he finds they're Hohenheim's sons and that they're practicing Alchemy.

A new situation. A new scenario. A new road, maybe?

Roy mentally pins the idea of paying them a visit as soon as he can.

Meanwhile, outside, the storm has suddenly faded into a thick misty rain and what has just happened already seems a thousand miles away from his memory.


	7. Soma

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**Yuuuh…this was _tiring, _and I don't even know why, maybe because I've been feeling sick for the entire week. I hope it's ok, I'll correct later if it's not, now I'm sick and tired of it!**

Back to us…from now on, the rest of the fic actually follows the story to see Roy's pov within the well-known are sad things to come, though, and if you want you can just stop with the 6th story goes on with another ff, the actual sequel of this, in which I explored Roy and Ed relationship (so, the pairing changes, yes) and I will be posting this story as soon as I can translate all of it. Thanks for your kind reading and, as usual, enjoy.

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**07Soma**

After a few years, in a capricious and frosty winter day, Glacier and Maes become parents for the first (and last) time. They're flattered, excited, erupting with genuine parent pride.

Everything is fine, everything is exactly as it has to be.

Sometimes Glacier knows times are not peaceful as she should believe them to be, and she's honored with Colonel Mustang's concerns about her husband. He's a kind man, she can tell, even though he seems a bit creepy and even as cold as ice. But the two brave men work together, smart and balanced, and she's honestly glad of it.

Glacier chest tightens with joy, the tiny bundle of a baby-girl in her arms; she looks up and thanks the young boy and the strange _armored _one,who have assisted her in such a complicated and unexpected event.

While outside the blizzard seems to be calming down a bit, Glacier thinks about the oddity of the short boy – sandy hair and golden eyes, two limbs of steel – and the much higher one, curiously locked up in an old-fashioned suit of armor.

But this is also the happiest and luckiest day of her life and she smiles warmly as her husband beams with joy at the phone with the ubiquitous Colonel.

From that moment the news about Elicya's birth and growth will travel around the world.

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Edward Elric, State Alchemist exam candidate, stares at the silent snow dancing in the sky and Alphonse, his younger brother, reads a complicate book of Alchemy .

The previous evening Glacier Hughes gave birth to little Elicya and the mystery of life has showed itself in all of its magnificence.

But the sad truth, alas, rests deep within the boys: they can't think about their mother nor they can forget the horror of their sin.

A failed human transmutation, an entire body, a leg and an arm lost in change of the potential lost soul of a child and some pestilential gushed half-alive entrails.

Their mind willingly fail to recollect all the particulars of the vivid images, they could go crazy, but in the older boy's desire to become a State Alchemist there's already a stubbornness that borders the obsession.

Yet, one can't cry over spilled milk, and what he has done protrudes from his eyes just like a monstrous and unnatural protuberance the stains a remarkable beauty, derisory echoing in his mutinied young body.

His almost-no-more childish figure has something grotesque in it, like it's struggling to be at once adult. And it sucks, and it's atrocious at so many levels that sometimes it becomes unbearable.

That's why Ed doesn't even have the courage to ask Alphonse his real opinion on how things went on that terrible and desperate night.

That's why he stubbornly looks forward, maintaining his deep frown with everyone, ready to jump in fights, fears and danger, not trusting anyone except his brother.

Clearly, there will be no hope for a normal life or a quiet living, being the warmth of a regular physical contact with some other _caring_ human being long since forgotten.

Betraying the innermost nature of Alchemy and then asking to be an Army's Dog…deep inside the boy knows he'll always remain an outcast.

Day after day, watching over his brother with lovely and guilty eyes, he recalls the weight of his promise and the importance of the blood-bond that tightly ties them.

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There are moments in a man's life when a turning point clearly shows itself as a sudden epiphany.

The air is altered, the climate suddenly doesn't suit anymore, little things have changed announcing some irreversible change within the tides.

If the opportunity presents itself, it would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

It takes a fucking handful of one man's best part, his courage and all of his best ideas, to ride this wave of changing, overcoming all the possible obstacles, and to aim to glory and victory.

So now, Roy Mustang, passed by one degree, feels his goal much closer.

Given the great chess player he is, Roy knows that preparing the ground to play with wit and timing it's the best move. Discipline, rigor, and clear ideas .

He keeps straight ahead to the finishing line, leaving whatever it takes behind.

Roy Mustang will go on, no matter what, never taking his eyes off from the horizon of his decisions.

No pauses, no feelings-like shit.

No affective or emotional distractions.

The only weakness of a lifetime, a shameful and unwanted love, becomes what he protects and jealously guards inside the fortress of his certainties.

Even if, for example, this love is well-gone, by now just a nostalgic and hazy memory which comes up only after a great number of drinks or, sometimes, in some sticky, confused and really unprofessional dreams. That's because mind can be trained but not be erased.

Deep inside, his heart always leaps up when that big moronic jerk of his subordinate, Major Hughes, speaks to him on the phone.

However, Roy Mustang won't get be fooled again, and day after day the mild protest of his heart becomes weaker and weaker, until it remains only in the shape of a breath, a murmur of habit.

His true and only love lost by now, Roy Mustang enjoys the acting: his bed is always ready for women he has no interest in because, certainly, distracting the surface will help him not to get to close again to anyone.

Theirs is no such a thing as love, love is for children and fairy tales, love is for the ones who had not profaned life, and even when it seems that the warmth of a naked body is calling for sincere affection , Roy quickly ducks and dodges the possibility.

he way in which a suffering spirit suffering chooses to live in the world is complicated and often incomprehensible.

So, if inside a bubble of coolness protects and hides everything, outside Roy Mustang is a rough heartbreaker, a womanizer, a magnificent, luxurious asshole, with money, shining smile and all the rest, and he will use everything and everyone to get to the top.

Meanwhile, with the corruption swarming among the ranks of military, between fanaticism and mysterious madness, he continues to be this officer he chose to be, silently expecting for a change.

It is dangerous and he has to be as stealthy as a cat, but he can tell that something is arriving.

And he will be ready, oh, so fucking ready, to jump on the neck of his target, mercilessly, deathly.

Roy Mustang knows he lost too much to gamble with faith and try to gain a pale shade of freedom, but again, like many years ago, this is an equivalent exchange, and like life's many other, is totally unfair.

After all, there would never be real salvation, and Roy doesn't even look anymore for it.

He will do what has to be done, he will become the instrument of his immaculate ideal of justice, the same one he used to discuss to heartedly with Maes, under the velvety and shining night-roof of a sandy landscape.

||||||||||\\\\\\\\\\\\\:::::::::::::

His name will be "Fullmetal Alchemist", that's what the Supreme Commander decided.

The twelve years old boy who stares grumpily at him now wears the most serious and terrible look he's capable of, Roy can easily tell, along with the fact that the expression is so wrongly melt with his young age and his scary but determined attitude.

Roy sighs a little, wondering when the definition of _normal_ became so fucked up:when was the last time this guy laughed , jumped, played? Isn't he supposed to be still in his no-problem age?

And his brother, in that unfathomable doomed state…How are they even taking care of each other?

Are they alone in this world?

The situation is quite delicate, Roy can bet it, just a glimpse of that desperate golden of the boy's eyes and he's already caring for them.

This…this…_movement _of silent empathy was not supposed to exist, but it has sprouted in him.

It could be the affinity he feels with this odd twos, some soundless horrors lying on the back, it could be the fact that Roy can't forget real sorrow and pain when he witnesses it.

He can't forget that night, the kid lying on a bed, arm and leg missing, groaning, half-fainting, weak, on the verge of death.

A little body so brutally maimed it hurt his eyes, the pale, exposed skin so harmless, so pitiful!

Survivors of a failed human transmutation…yes, but look now, how high is the price they paid!

Roy hopes they still have somewhere some sort of light, of hope, he wishes they still believe in the world, in their own strength and in their ability to turn back as normal human beings.

So, full of his usual icy contempt, Roy Mustang feels himself free, for once, _to allow_…something, someone.

Edward Elric speaks in a way it reminds Roy too much of his lost, foolish and young self, somehow, and really, he may be the most obnoxious bastard around, but there are still soft spots in his dried up heart.

Roy will watch over him, he will treat him like an adult like he childishly demands, and when he throws the guy his pocket watch, Roy grins as to challenge him.

For now, he will stand on the sidelines, observing their movements, their journey – no direct interfering - forcing them to comply with the obligation of the Army and to accept obedience and his command. Mustang also pretends to keep them tied to him, blackmailing them with the truth behind their bodies' conditions.

Therefore, how would he be supposed to be able to protect them without making a fuss or spoil all the rest at stake, the _big _rest?

||||||||||\\\\\\\\\\\\\:::::::::::::

- You'll keep an eye on them, then? - question Hughes on the phone…but it's an utterance.

- Definitely . We'll see what they can get. - answers Roy, the phone squeezed between the shoulder and cheek , his hands working in signing paperwork.

- Ah, so I was right, you've taken them to heart!- chuckles Hughes, softly.

- I'm only assuring they won't do a mess anymore, idiot, that's it.- Mustang says, pretending the usual coolness.

- So you ask me to watch them in the same way, huh? Roger!- springs up Hughes so that Roy feels again so unnerved he could punch him.

He slams down the phone cruelly, without even answering back.

- Use the phone civilly, Sir!- thunders Hawkeye behind him while he thinks, almost bemused, that the jerk still knows how to read his mind too well.


	8. Everloving

***bulletin board***

That's it, the last chapter. I suggest you (if you're interested) to read the other fic related to this one(whenever I'm posting it), if you'd like to see the big picture :)Anyway, it has been a pleasure, thanks for reading my words and _read_-you-soon.Yuki 08 Everloving

The sky is clear and sunny, bright sun floods on the ground under Roy's feet, a gentle breeze caresses the earth and moves gently through the blades of grass.

A wall of officers silently stands along the path in the graveyard, on a flowered, pretty hill.

They wear the mourning uniform, a black band encircles their chest and a serious expression weight on their contrite faces .

Today, in fact, former Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes' funeral will be held.

What a lucky man, indeed, he had promoted to Brigadier General for the occasion...

When the internment takes place, his lovely daughter, Elicya, begins to cry .

Because - you see - if those men are pulling her Daddy down in the earth, how will he go to work tomorrow?

While her still mother softly sobs she keeps crying and crying, loudly.

All around her a bunch of big men can't gather up the courage to look up to her and play the "big-adults" charade in which they omnisciently and politely explain her that his father is dead and so, sadly, he will never return.

In a shady corner, far from being unnoticed, Major Armstrong cries uncontrollably, too.

The ceremony ends rather quickly, the group begin to dwindle as people offer the most sincere condolences to the poor hero's wife.

She is perfect, as usual, flawless and immobile, the right amount of grieving in her eyes above her shoulder so no one will feel guilty about being still alive.

Honestly, Roy has never really hated Glacier; in fact he respects her very much.

He even admires her, secretly, for an interesting number of screwed up reasons, including the absurd one in which, at least, she can grieve for the man she loved.

Roy Mustang, instead, immobile in front of the polished tombstone, can't do that.

He gazes absent-mindedly at the shiny letters of a name he used to care of and his lips are sewed in a tight, motionless grip.

In his mind a stream of spiteful words fill his grief but his throbbing heart can't seem to forget, even now…And suddenly Roy Mustang desires to die, too, not only because he can't hug his Maes anymore, but also because his friend has been erased from existence.

Behind him, Riza Hawkeye awaits, apprehensively watching the lonely figure of the Colonel while he silently let the tears pour down his cheeks.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy realized he has to go on so that their years of sacrifices won't go wasted.

He wants to find out and punish who killed _his_ precious subordinate, and he will.

Luckily, his revenge and his plan to overcome everything and gain power run on the same direction.

He'll go on, until the very end, with his shiny coldness and his self-confidence, for Maes, for the warmth they shared, for the family he left, for all the injustices they had to bear.

Maes got killed because of their master plan, because of his loyalty and his firmness, and Roy will betray his friends' sacrifice.

He's watching over his wife in the distance, fearing other aggressions: strange hands are moving in the shadows and the woman, with her child, is not in a safe position.

So Roy thinks, and at the same he feels sorry, guilty even.

He doesn't know if one day he will be able to tell her the truth openly, probably not, and he blames himself for being such an hypocrite. He took something away from her, long time ago, but now that everything is gone into pieces, the two of them stand in the same line, united, against all odds

Meanwhile, silently, Roy will take care of the much greater business he's been preparing himself for all these years. Now, the time has come and the culprits will pay.

Things got really complicated; however Roy's a clever man and he has already noticed that his faithful Armstrong is being watched.

The ingenious, noisy man, had him understand it by limiting abruptly his friendly manners and visits, glancing hard at him whenever he's not free to talk, cutting their dialogues suddenly in front of the _big sharks, _just to trick them.

Behind the scenes, supported by hidden followers and closest friends, Roy started to clear his mind over the situation.

Ishbar onslaught, laboratory no. 5, Maes' death…these are all effects of putrid tentacles operating in the dark, led by the will of the very upper levels of the Army: everything is connected in a framework that is undoubtedly clear, complex and scary .

Now, while they're waiting nervously in Roy's office, Hawkeye picks up the ringing phone.

She briefly nods and hums, then:

- The tiger moved.- she says to Roy under her breath .

Once in the Supreme Commander's office, Roy obtains to be sent to Reole along with Armstrong and the Archer, that fanatic bastard.

Armstrong glances at Roy sideways. This time they really have to operate smoothly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Edward made Roy angry again, maybe for the millionth time.

Hawkeye says that the Colonel tends to lose his coolness when it comes to the miniature-sized Alchimist…and probably she's right.

Well, Roy groans, it could be easier if only the dwarf wasn't so persistent in his disobedience.

The permanent-war state seems not to bother the boy and Roy doesn't want to restrain him but he's beginning to get out of control, acting only according to his will.

Roy really wants to preserve him and his brother from possible dangerous repercussions and outside Archer's office, meeting his subordinate, he looks at him furiously and thunders:

- I thought we had a deal. –

The boy chuckles and Roy feels his patience flowing away: he plans to do as he wishes, as always.

The thing is Edward didn't send any report in a long time and Roy was already figuring out the way to pass the boy some important information and updating.

Maybe Roy wanted to tell the boy that Maes died, maybe he wanted to show him the delicate framework he built with his racy mind.

But the boy has hostile eyes and looks at him with suspicion.

This annoys Roy.

This attitude is something bothersome.

Stubborn, proud, doubtful and probably thinking about Roy as an enemy to defeat.

But the worst part is that Fullmetal and his brother have no place in the current situation and a terrible sensation builds up in Roy.

And, again, that's the breaking point: how can Roy watch over the boys if they're so mistrusting and uncontrollable?

How can Roy shout to the Army that while projecting his own coupe d'état he's protecting two brothers, searching for the philosopher's stone to repair the damages of a failed human transmutation?

Clearly, the situation and its balances are ridiculously faint.

Damn, if only Edward Elric was a little more predictable!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy awoke all at once, a confused mass of memories before his eyes .

Bradley…the skull…his flames everywhere…the sudden shot…Riza calling him in tears, distant and far, far away...

In the cool and pleasant shade of the room, finally some awareness climbed up to his conscience.

He…he had it made.

His impossible plan had come true.

He had overthrown the power of that hideous homunculus, he killed him and erased forever from this world.

Yes, he had it made, he had killed Maes's assassins.

Maes.

Escaping from the heavy network of its rationality, the memory of the dead man _bitter-sweetly_ spread above him.

He had obtained his revenge…

Roy slowly raised an arm and discovered a bandage partially covering the left side of his face…a fairly low price for what he had achieved .

Suddenly, a dull feeling of inertia replaced the initial enthusiasm and the joy of the winner fell from his heart.

What was he meant to do, now, that he had his aims fulfilled?

What was he supposed to think if, honestly, he had hoped to die in the extent of reaching his goals?

A grotesque, surreal thought in which he had never lingered too much displayed in front of him.

And, unexpectedly, all the things together weighed on him unbearably.

The fact was – alas, truth is always too hard to bear – he had once accepted the iniquity of the Equivalent Exchange but he had never really thought about it.

Now that unfairness was crystal clear

He had accepted to be devoted to his own cause, his will never faltered, but he never really cared about the fact that one day he'd feel the price to pay on his skin.

For he had dared scarring his very soul, from the inside.

Now, he didn't know what to…_be._

Roy laughed hysterically, thinking about all the sorrow and the pain, thinking about the sacrifices and the sacrificed ones, thinking about his own youth buried under a huge pile of events, people, lost and found…

In that moment, Riza came in, a tray in her hands, Black Hayate shuffling right behind her.

After a light lunch and some spare words, the faithful Riza started to update Roy and the incredulous man got to know about his new condition of General, about the fall of the government and the birth of the democracy, led by a righteous Parliament.

Meanwhile, Riza said, Alfonse Elric was back and safe, currently at home with a normal human body but, unfortunately, no one seemed to know where Edward had gone.

When Riza left the General, Roy remained in the bed wide-eyed for a lot of time.

After all, also Fullmetal had it made.

He had succeeded with a complete human transmutation.

The scientific objectivity of the Flame Alchemist flickered and rejoiced: the boy had been stunning, incredible, brilliant…and scary at the same time.

He was gone too, probably dead.

Roy felt sick. This was the umpteenth unrighteous debt life had to pay to death.

He sighed, slowly.

How was he meant to survive, now?

He had no idea and hoped hard, all night long, that all he had seen and felt up until now was only a treacherous, horrendous nightmare he was about to wake up from.

_the end


End file.
